


Five and Twenty

by aurora_australis, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-23 14:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: One question leads to twenty for a slightly anxious lady detective. Investigative sass ensues.From the prompt, “The oldest, shortest words--"yes" and "no" --are those which require the most thought.” -- Pythagoras





	Five and Twenty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inzannatea (Zanna23)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanna23/gifts).



He opened the door wearily, tired after a long morning and an even longer afternoon and happy to be home. The familiar turn of the key was comforting and he immediately began to shed the day - the summer months always brought out the most irksome criminal elements, more annoying than clever and certainly less pleasant smelling. He was looking forward to a cool drink and a good dinner and a very specific smile.

As he turned to put his hat on its customary hook, he saw a blur out of the corner of his eye as Phryne swiftly jumped to her feet in the parlor, obviously anxious for his arrival. Ah, so it was going to be that kind of an evening. Well then. Tired as he was, he couldn't say he minded.

"Hello, love. And how was your day?" he inquired as he made his way into the parlor, heading immediately for the drinks cart.

“I need to know what you got me for Christmas,” she blurted out, without any preamble.

“Well who says I got you anything?" he asked, silently asking with a tilt of his head if she wanted a drink as well. She gestured to the half full glass she was holding and shook her head no.

“Really Jack? Five years together and this is the year you decide not to get me anything?”

“Well times are lean.”

“Are they hungry as well, Jack?” she said, recalling the quote as well as he. “Because if you want any supper tonight, you'll tell me what you're getting me for Christmas.”

“One, Mr. Butler would never deny a ravenous public servant his supper. Two, ultimatums are beneath you. And three, why on earth do you need to know early? Christmas is just two days away and you love opening presents. It's your second favorite thing to unwrap.”

“I just do. Please Jack. Just...trust me.” She ran her hand over her hair and took a sip of her drink, but did not make eye contact with him.

Oh. She was genuinely anxious. Jack settled on the chaise and brought his drink to his lips to buy time. This might actually be something to worry about. Ordinarily an anxious Phryne, rare though such a state was, was brought back to herself easily enough through a bit of cajoling and some gentle teasing. But this time of year...this time of year was more dangerous. Despite the longer days, the shadows were more prominent for Phryne and she could lose herself in them more easily. Even now, she never could seem to enjoy her birthday. Not fully. Memories of Foyle, and her sister, and the guilt she could never totally shake casting a pall over the day. But Christmas. Christmas he could give her. Every year he tried to make the whole holiday as merry and bright as she was the rest of the year. And for the most part he was successful. He often employed the help of her found family in the endeavour, and between the lot of them, Christmas had become her true summer solstice. He would do anything to preserve that for her. So whatever was bothering her now, he would just have to do away with it. And what better way than with what they did best. 

Well, he thought, smiling to himself as he took another sip, a close second anyway.

“All right,” he finally answered. “You can play me for it.”

“Pardon?”

“We'll play Twenty Questions.”

“A parlor game? This is serious!”

“I rather doubt it is. And seeing as how dinner isn't for another,” he looked at his watch, “twenty minutes at least, it seems as good a way as any to pass the time. Come on, Miss Fisher, think of it as an investigation.” At that she perked up immediately. Good. “Unless you don't feel up to it of course.”

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifted as though rising to the challenge itself.

“Fine,” she responded. “Twenty Questions it is.”

“Excellent. Begin.”

She considered her first question carefully. "Is it alive?"

"Really?" Jack asked. "That's your opening move?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing I suppose. Except honestly, what are the odds I got you something living?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Which is precisely why I asked."

"Fine, fine, it's your line of inquiry. 1. No."

"Is it dangerous?"

Jack snorted his drink a bit at that. "In your hands, what isn't?"

"Yes or no, Jack."

"Inherently? 2. No."

“Is it common?”

“Hmmm. 3. Yes.”

“Is it flammable?”

“Miss Fisher, everything is flammable if you try hard enough.”

“I mean is it naturally flammable. And I could really do without the commentary, darling, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“A thousand apologies for my cheek, Miss Fisher. 4. No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She seemed disappointed at that. Though why, he had no idea. “All right, not flammable...is it metal?”

“5. Yes.”

“Metal and common...is it larger than,” she considered, ”my hand?”

“This hand?” He reached across and made a show of examining it, before bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. “6. No.”

“Would I buy it for myself?”

“7. No.”

“Is it from Australia?”

“Interesting question, Miss Fisher. 8. No.”

“Thank you, Jack, I do try to keep things interesting.” She finished her drink and sat down, finally, in the chair opposite him. She was puzzling it out, which seemed to have chased away some of the anxiety at least. Perhaps this would work after all.

“Is it sentimental?”

“As opposed to…?”

“Practical,” she clarified.

“Ah. Well, if you’ll forgive the modest commentary, I would suggest you ask those two questions separately.”

A questioning tilt of her head and slight furrowing of her eyebrows were her only direct responses to his statement.

“Is it sentimental?”

“9. Yes.”

“Is is practical?”

“10. Yes.”

“Sentimental _and_ practical? Jack, darling, did you get me your twin brother?”

“11. No.”

“What! That doesn’t count! It was obviously a joke.”

“I don’t make the rules, Miss Fisher.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Giving up so soon? Hardly like you to admit defeat so early.”

“It’s not defeat. I’m just stating a fact. Twenty questions hardly seems enough to eliminate the numerous options ava - “ she stopped speaking abruptly, and Jack could practically see the wheels turning. “Numerous...num...” She looked at her hands intently as though they might be relied upon for a clue. Suddenly she narrowed her eyes, looked at him directly, and pursed her lips before speaking. “Is it round?”

Oh, he thought, well done.

“12. On the whole...yes.”

“And is said gift comprised of more than one item?”

“13. Yes.”

“And could I use said same gift to, say, purchase other gifts?”

“14. Yes.”

She smiled, clearly pleased with herself. She stood as if in victory but as she did her line of sight settled on the tree in the corner, and the small wrapped gift beneath it. And suddenly she was anxious again, worrying her bottom lip and debating with herself how best to proceed. She seemed to settle on blunt.

“I got you wood.”

“Wood.”

“Yes.”

Jack blinked.

“I have to say, Phryne, this is a lot less subtle than our usual banter.”

“What? No. I got you _wood_. As in from trees.”

“All right...how exactly does this figure into this game?”

“Because...because I was talking to Dot a few months ago and she mentioned that it was her and Hugh's five year anniversary so she was getting him a little wooden car for his collection. Wood. And I thought that seemed lovely. And, well, this would be our fifth Christmas together _together_ and perhaps that deserved recognition. So I got you something made of wood.” She stopped and looked at the gift under the tree again, this time deliberately.

Jack took another sip of his drink and waited patiently for her to resume her story, watching her closely but refusing to rush her. She turned to look at him again and continued.

“But I had lunch with Mac today and when I told her about what I was giving you, she said it wasn't very nice of me to mock marriage traditions that way, especially given how modern you've been about our arrangement. And of course I told her that I wasn't. Because I never would, Jack, I **never would**. I know it's not for me, but I also know what it meant to you and I would _never_ belittle that. But after she left I started to worry, you know, that you might think that too. What Mac thought. So I decided, well if HE got ME something made of wood, then that was fine, we were on the same page and so I just....needed to know. But the game seems to have got away from me.”

She sat down in her chair with a small sigh. When she finally looked up at him again she gave him a wry smile.

“So, did I just spoil Christmas?”

Jack just stared at her for a moment.

Marvelous woman.

He stood and walked over to her, kneeling before her and talking her hand.

“Phryne, Christmases before you were mostly spent at the station. Alone. Sometimes I took the day off and spent it at home. Alone. I trust you see the theme. But ever since I met you, I have been anything but alone. I have friends again, a family you created and pulled me kicking and screaming into, whether or not I wanted it - for the record, I didn't - or needed it - for the record, I absolutely did. And you. Phryne you share your life with me. And I am, in case I have been neglectful in mentioning it today, madly in love with you. So if you want to celebrate five years together, if you want to celebrate five minutes together, I am all for it. Because for me, any and all time with you and the life we have together is worth celebrating.”

She looked at him for a moment with an unreadable expression. And then she smiled. There it was. Specific. Perfect. Phryne.

After a moment’s reflection, she rolled her eyes at herself and took a deep breath. "In my defense, this all seemed a lot more dire after two and a half martinis with Mac. But I suppose I was being a little ridiculous, wasn't I?"

"Not ridiculous. Kind. It's one of your best qualities."

"Oh? Would you care to enumerate any others?" she asked, with obvious intent. Crisis averted.

"Perhaps. After dinner. Need to keep up my strength and all that."

"Yes, poor you. I really am so demanding."

"Terribly. Come here anyway." And then he kissed her. A quiet, sincere kiss full of past understanding and future promise all at once. When he pulled away, only as far as he needed to to speak, he asked her, "so, did you puzzle it out?" Eyes still closed, Phryne responded with a small questioning noise, less word than sound. "What I got you for Christmas," he continued.

She opened her eyes swiftly at that and pulled back. Ah yes, the mystery. He might as well have pointed out some polonium on the mantelpiece.

"Well," she began, "I do have a guess. But it seems a little...Queenscliff."

"Queenscliff? Ah. Yes. Very good. But, I'm afraid, not specific enough."

"No, that's the part I don't know. But I am delighted to find out."

"Well far be it from me to deny you anything," he said, leaving the room to collect her gift from the study.

She laughed at that. As far as she was concerned Jack Robinson was the king of denying her. And if he did it a lot less now than in their early days, well, five years wasn't nearly long enough to wipe out the red from that ledger. Waiting for him to return she busied herself by grabbing his gift from below the tree. When he walked back in, she handed it to him. “Here,” she said, “since I started all this, it only seems right that you open yours first.”

“We could actually just wait until Christmas, Phryne. I hear that’s the traditional day to open Christmas gifts.”

“Oh who wants to be traditional, Jack? We make our own traditions.”

“All right, fine.” He put his gift to her on the side table and carefully unwrapped the surprisingly heavy box she had handed him. Removing the lid revealed a wooden clock, about a foot high. He realized what it was and took a breath.

“It’s Big Ben,” she explained, after he didn’t say anything.

“I can see that. It’s beautiful” he said swallowing the lump in his throat. And it was. An exact replica of the famous time piece, scaled down to fit in his hand. “This is my favorite clock, you know.”

“I know.”

“You told me you loved me under this clock.”

“I remember.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her again. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re very welcome. I thought perhaps you could put it in your office. A subtle reminder just for us of a very special day in London,” she said smiling softly, then with a smirk added, “and perhaps with such a prominent time piece on hand you’ll actually leave the office at a reasonable hour more often.” 

“I should have known you had an ulterior motive.”

“Yes, you really should be on to that by now. All right, my turn!”

“Yes, dear.” He picked a small leather pouch up off the side table and handed it to her. “I was going to actually wrap it, but I haven't had a chance yet.” She eagerly opened the pouch and tipped the contents into her hand. As she had suspected, they were coins. Several were silver and featured the profile of a man with Arabic lettering on either side. Some featured both the name and profile of George V King Emperor. The rest were more boxy and bore the mark ‘Straits Settlements.’

“Oh Jack, they’re fascinating. Where are they from? I’m afraid you’re still the superior numismatist.”

“Glossing over for the moment you admitting I am superior at anything, this one,” he said as he held up one of the boxy coins, “is from Singapore. This,” he indicated a silver coin, “is a dinar, from Iraq. And these are from India. Specifically, these coins are from Baghdad, Allahabad, and Singapore, respectively. And I’m afraid they’re not very old. Only a few months.”

“Baghdad, Allahabad, and Singapore...Jack, those were the stops on the MacRobertson Air Race!” she exclaimed, clearly delighted with her gift.

“They were.” He smiled smugly, pleased to have been able to surprise her even after their game.

“How ever did you get them?”

“Are you sure you want to know? I thought you prefered a never ending source of mystery.”

“Oh please Jack, this story I definitely want to hear.”

“Well a mate of mine happened to be on the crew of one of the competitors. When I found out, I wired him before they left England and asked him to pick up some coins in each city they stopped in.” He frowned. “Now that I’m telling it, I’m afraid it’s not actually that interesting of a story.”

“Jack, you know someone who actually _flew_ the London to Melbourne Air Race! That’s incredible! If he’s still in Australia, can we invite him to supper? Oh I have so much I want to ask him!!”

“Hmmm. 15. Yes.”

At that Phryne stuck her tongue out at him but it had no heart. She was still clearly thrilled with her gift.

“Really, Jack, this is wonderful. Whatever gave you the idea?”

“Well I know how closely you were following every detail of the race and I wanted to give you a small piece of it. And,” he continued with a small smirk, “so when you inevitably make the trip yourself - because I am not foolish enough to believe you won’t try eventually - you have a little something for each stop.”

She put the coins back in the pouch, and the pouch back on the table, and reached for his hand instead.

“Do you know how much I love you, Jack?”

“16. Yes.”

“And that you make me incredibly happy?”

A pause from him.

A smile from her.

Specific. Perfect.

“17. Yes.”

“Annnnd,” she said, drawing the word out like taffy, as she pressed against him and fiddled with his tie, “do you know what I’m thinking right now?”

“18. I’m very much hoping, yes.”

“And after dinner would you like me to do that thing I did on your birthday?”

“19. Yes. 20. Yes.”

“19 and 20? I only asked one question.”

“Well, I’d like you to do it twice.”

She laughed at that, an honest, joyful laugh, and he knew she would be all right. Christmas, it seems, was saved.

“Happy Christmas, Jack”

“Happy Christmas, Phryne.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to olderbynow for her helpful suggestions and Fire_Sign for organizing this whole Ficathon which prompted my first attempt at writing for Jack and Phryne.
> 
> Some historical trivia (because obviously that’s why you’re all here):
> 
> The MacRobertson Trophy Air Race (also known as the London to Melbourne Air Race) was a real race that took place in October 1934 as part of the Melbourne Centenary celebrations. There were five compulsory stops at Baghdad, Allahabad, Singapore, Darwin and Charleville (the last two cities are both in Australia); otherwise the competitors could choose their own routes. The race was won in less than three days and was significant in ushering in the modern era of commercial aviation. Also, it seems like exactly the kind of thing Phryne would love.
> 
> Twenty Questions was indeed a popular parlour game as early as the 19th century. For another Christmas connection, there’s a version played in Charles Dickens’ _A Christmas Carol_.


End file.
